My Reflection
by Demigod444
Summary: Post-CF oneshot. Katniss looks into the mirror and realizes what's to come. I suck at summaries; just read it.


The reflection of my slowly recovering body appears in the mirror mounted on the wall across from my bed, in the hovercraft on which we make our grand escape to District Thirteen. In the past two years, the Games have transformed me into a solemn shadow of my former pre-reaping self.

In the empty room, I glance up and down my reflection, inspecting the scars covering my body, the most noticeable of which being the point in my left arm that Johanna dug into, and, of course, the multitude of scars caused by the massive forcefield explosion.

I barely recognize my own face, solemn and sober. My gray Seam eyes stare back at me, as if wondering who I am; through the metamorphosis I've undergone in my back-to-back Hunger Games, I begin to wonder the same thing. Am I even Katniss Everdeen anymore?

Images flash through my head. Rue's flower covered body, illuminated by the light pouring out from the hovercraft coming to collect her corpse; Peeta lying in the cave with a fever, an invitation for death to come take him away; Mags, venturing into the mist to save us, a martyr from the beginning.

A single tear drops down my face. It navigates its way down my face and drips off my chin. It splashes onto the ground; I can't hear it, but I imagine the sound of a tiny patter bouncing off the tile. Has watching my friends killed by the Capitol before my very eyes strengthen my resolve to make their murderers pay for what they have done? Or has it just weakened me to the point that I can no longer fight.

Another tear drops down my face.

Without a shadow of a doubt, I owe the people who have willingly sacrificed their lives for Panem to be free. But can I carry on? Can I lead the rebellion to triumph over the Capitol that rules us?

Well we sure as hell have a long way to go, and we have even more to lose. If I can't inspire the districts wholeheartedly, complete genocide will most likely occur, turning every district into ruins. Why would they stop after 12?

The only thing I see in the mirror that is familiar to me is Madge's golden mockingjay pin. I'm not at all surprised that the rebellion has adopted it as their symbol. It is the best mascot for a revolution against the Capitol; they left the jabberjays for dead because they were no longer important to their effort to quell the first rebel uprising, and they defied the Capitol and not only lived, but thrived, carrying on their existences by mating with mockingbirds.

A hand appears on my shoulder. Startled, I jump back, only to find Haymitch standing there. He lets out a brief chuckle.

"Shut up, Haymitch," I snap.

He doesn't even acknowledge that I said anything, but at least he's quiet for the moment. He takes a good, hard look at me, no doubt taking in my saddened and angry face glaring daggers at him.

He wraps his arms around me in a quick embrace. I am taken aback at his action, which is by far the most compassionate thing I have ever witnessed him do.

"You don't need to tell me what you're thinking, kid," he says to me. I'm not sure whether it's because my thoughts at this point must be pretty obvious, because he doesn't want me to tell him about it until I'm mentally and emotionally composed, or maybe he just doesn't really want me to tell him about how abysmal my death-ridden life has been.

We just stand there in silence for a while, staring at each other in the mirror. His surprisingly calming presence helps me get a bearing on my situation.

Haymitch breaks the silence. "I'm not sure if this will help you or kill you, but either way you've gotta face it. A lot of people are counting on you. You know who we're fighting for, but you have to remember it's about more than you and the people in your own little bubble. There's plenty more districts full of people who are counting on you to lead the way, and you can't let your own personal crap to get in the way of any of it."

He walks out of the room slowly at first, but eventually his gait becomes a normal speed.

Overwhelmed by Haymitch's speech, I sit down on the white sheets covering my bed. What he said was hiding in the back of my head the whole time, and now I have no choice but to face it and look head on into it.

A tear drops down my face once more.

Then two.

Then three.

I am left in my room alone, sobbing uncontrollably into my hands.

**Author's Note: Please rate and review! I'd rather you criticize me than not say anything at all, as long as it's constructive. And flames piss me off, so please refrain from them.**


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